Losing Sleep
by OneDayOneRoom
Summary: House has a dream full of happiness. When he wakes up to his everyday life, and realizes that none of it was real, depression takes over and sleep is lost. First-fanfic Please R&R Thanks
1. Chapter 1

Losing Sleep

Summary: House has a dream full of happiness. When he wakes up to his everyday life, and realizes that none of it was real, depression takes over and sleep is lost. First-fanfic Please R&R Thanks.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.-- What's that? ---Oh, I know, me too.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Looking at his watch, House realized that if he was going to get any shut eye for the night he would have to turn back. Not only was he 3 miles (an estimated length) away from his apartment, it was 1:00 in the morning.

Like birds are meant to fly, House was meant to run. He thought himself pre-destine to do all that he could. Which was solving the most difficult cases, pushing his mind to limits no others dared to go, and to run and test his physical limitations at every chance. Sweat soaked into every visible part of House's clothing, and his calf muscles were beginning to burn at the much anticipated late-night jog.

After stopping himself in mid-stride, he sought out the neighborhood around him. Unfamiliar, just as so many other aspects in his life. But soon he came to the conclusion that for once in a great while, he felt truly happy. Excited even, that he would get to know these streets and hopefully find a chance at enjoying life and all it had to offer. As this feeling of true joy erupted, another thought came to mind: Why was it always so difficult for him to achieve this level of happiness? What limited him from being all that he could be, whether it be finding love, or attaining relationships?

It was a small vindictive voice inside the doctor's head that caused thoughts to surface and reality to set in. It told him of a horrible life that was lived day-to-day, and of a miserable man that had become because of it. A wave of exhaustion started flowing through every muscle and every part of the newly joyous man.

It was anxiety and dread that took over when House realized that none of it was real.

The dark houses and unfamiliar streets were all nothing. They faded into a dark backdrop, and the intricate details of his surroundings were distorted and insignificant. House figured that even the drop of sweat making a path down his cheek wasn't real.

The only thing that felt remotely normal was the pain arising in his chest and the knowledge that this was the closest to happiness or satisfaction he would ever allow for himself.

This hallucination-this state of faltered reality was his only chance at feeling normal, the fish was finally put back into the water. As darkness curtained his environment, House lowered himself to the ground and awaited what he was sure to come-- his everyday life as only he knew it best.

* * *

The first thought that came to mind when House awoke was _I hate my subconscious. _Lately, it seemed as if every night it teased him. It poked fun at how miserable he had become, and how unlikely his situation was to ever change.

This had been one of the crueler dreams, because it replayed the time when House had undergone the Ketamine treatment and was temporarily returned to normalcy. It was nice to be able to run again even if it was only in a unrealistic dream, but the cruel part was waking up and remembering that his life would never again be in that pleasant state.

House then opened his eyes, and was welcomed with the end of his nightmare. Nothing.

Literally, as House lifted his head and attempted to sit up, the amount of light in the room was so diminutive that he couldn't even make out the features of his bedroom.

Pain started to radiate up from his leg, and yet reminded him of his physical barrier and constant reminder of how pathetic he had become. After reaching out into the darkness, House located his pills, popped two and proceeded with the thoughts that he knew he should try and push away.

He hated these times, when sleep was out of the question, and it was only him and his mind, left to deal with each other. Normally, he would call Wilson, (for advice he would never admit to) but he was stopped, and for once thought about respecting the man, who was probably the only person who truly cared about his(House's) existence.

House found his cane, and thought it better to be sitting in the light of his living room, than to lay in the darkness of his bedroom. Feeling blind, House maneuvered himself through the hallway, and thought about the current irony that was for his life.

When the space around him opened up, and he was in the living room, House could feel his eyes start to water, and was ashamed of it because he could not clearly identify the cause. Before he located the light switch, he observed the cool shadows that cast themselves through the windows, and thought about the light that peeked in from a distant street outside.

When the light was turned on, House made his way to the couch. His head started to pound, and for once was surprised that his headache was currently hurting more than his leg.

He assumed that the headache was just a small side effect from the couple of glasses of scotch that he had consumed before he went to sleep.

Dread was creeping up on him, and he knew that today was going to be a bad one. Not only was his head drilling holes into itself, his leg was screaming along.

To top off this predicted physical thriller of the day ahead, he felt abnormally depressed, and had no motivation to change his situation.

House flipped his cell phone open after what felt like days of sitting on the couch. Light had already started to fill the rest of the apartment, and was pouring in through the living room windows mixing with the artificial light from the lamp that had been turned on when he awoke.

His cell phone illuminated 9:00am, and House realized that he had been sitting awake for approximately six hours. Damn.

After this practically sleepless night, going to work was the least favorable thing to do now. House then sat up, put his head in his hands, and thought about how to approach his next move, which was to call in to work, for reasons slightly unknown, and to converse or better said argue, with Cuddy.

"Hello, Lisa Cuddy speaking"

"not coming in today"

"House? This better be good"

"It is because… I'm actually calling you"

"Why?" He could feel the tone of frustration beaming in her voice.

"Because I'm not coming in today."

"I figured that House… I have a degree…I meant why are you not coming in today? Too high, too drunk? Can I get a little information here?"

"Because I'm not feeling well Cuddy…drop it"

"House, you're a grown man, if you need a Dayquil, or even an antacid, you WORK AT A HOSPITAL! Not feeling well isn't going to cut it. Either come up with a better excuse or get your ass in here!"

"Damn it Cuddy….I couldn't sleep last night, and I figured if you want to avoid harsher than usual cracks at your appearance, your ego, self-esteem, and job-- then it might be wise to let me come in late or something, so I can get some more sleep!"

"House-I don't have time for this. Whatever…come in later, but know that if you expect to just come in and lounge around in your office, you're wrong. Have fun in the clinic…lots of it."

The click came next, and House sat there for a minute listening to nothing but the hum of the refrigerator in the distance. He finally decided that he was going back to bed, in hopes of releasing the restraints of depression from his body, and his mind.

He reached over, turned the lamp off, and killed the majority of the light in his environment. He heard the bed, call from the bedroom, and was ready to be welcomed by the comfort and security that it offered. _I'm definitely not going into work today,_ he thought as he struggled to make it to the bedroom.

After tucking himself in, he closed his eyes and prepared himself to return to the darkness and nothingness that he had abruptly woke up from so many hours ago.


	2. Chapter 2

Losing Sleep

Summary: House has a dream full of happiness. When he wakes up to his everyday life, and realizes that none of it was real, depression takes over and sleep is lost. First-fanfic Please R&R Thanks.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.-- What's that? ---Oh, I know, me too.

**Sorry about taking so long to update, I kinda forgot about this and decided that it might be worth it to continue. Thank you for the reviews on the first chapter though :P**

**Chapter 2**

Sitting at her desk, Lisa Cuddy peered at the clock that read _2:00pm. _"Oh House," she mumbled out loud to herself in search of why he always chose to be so difficult. _Really, what was with him lately? Please act normal, well at least by your standards, for once. _

It had been a little over a month since Kutner's unexpected suicide, and House -besides being abnormally quiet for some days after, had just begun to return back to his regular self. She thought this was one of his classic ploys for ditching work and thought nothing of his inability to act like a normal human being. _He's just messing with me, trying to see how much he can get away with. Damn…_

She decided to consult with the one person who might know the reasoning this time for the absence of her Head of the Diagnostics, innocent people pleaser Wilson. House trusted Wilson, more than he should at times, and might have confided in him with his latest plan of attack. She knew that House and Wilson had been growing distant for some time now, but that didn't erase decades of friendship.

Cuddy worked her high heels, and made her way to the door that read _James E. Wilson. _The brown door looked inviting, safe, and she quickly determined that it was worth it to walk all the way up here. After knocking twice, and hearing "come in" and turned the silver handle. She had a doubtful expression written all over her face, and was not in the mood to make this investigation a lengthy one.

Wilson was busy, looking at an x-ray as Cuddy made her way to his desk.

"I have no clue." he said as he continued to examine the pictured lungs, a frown tugging on his face.

"Impressive…"

Cuddy let out a breath of air, and smoothed her tightly fit skirt down with both hands. She looked up at him, allowed her doubt and disappointment to become visible and searched his face for answers she didn't even know whether or not existed.

"I knew it was about House, he has yet to come in, and I figured that you would come sooner or later to find out why he's still not here." Wilson put down the folio and looked her straight in the eye with a hint of fury and resentment.

"I haven't spoken to him since yesterday, when he left work…and I assume that you haven't either?" His expression was of one she could not quite put her finger on.

Cuddy told him about her conversation that she'd had with House earlier in the morning, and expressed her concerns as he still hadn't come in or called back. House had seemed distant, tired, but not in a lack of sleep sort of way, just tired of, well, everything. _Was he trying for attention, was this a cry for help? Surely Wilson would hold the key to this diminutive mystery… _

"Don't worry about it too much Cuddy," Wilson said his eyes growing even more dark and cold.

"He has a past of acting depressed and out of touch, but the next day he will come in and pretend that everything is fine. This isn't the first time he has done it, and knowing him far too long, this will not be the last." Wilson looked pleased with himself, had a smug grin playing on his lips and not a hint of sarcasm in his words.

As Wilson said this, Cuddy's stomach churned in spite of how uncaring Wilson was acting. She thought of how House and his relationship used to be, and how different it was now. Wilson thought House to be so predictable and revealed no sympathy or interest in why he had chosen that day to ditch his responsibilities. Everything had changed, and nothing was like it used to be. _It's like he didn't even care anymore. _Maybe, he shouldn't care anymore after all House had put him through, enough was truly enough. _Had House finally pushed too far?_

Even though the situation with House still needed to be resolved, Cuddy decided to continue on with her daily work and the hospital action that was involving everyone else. Later, when it was time to leave, she would call House to see if his problem was just a one day thing or if it would stretch to coming days as well. Her life didn't revolve around one employee, and she would do all that she could to keep it that way. _House, act like a grown up for once, stop this, please stop this…_

_

* * *

_

As soon as his head hit the pillow, his mind would not shut off. It was like a film, every aspect of his life replaying itself over and over and over. House had been laying there trying to shut off his thoughts and fall asleep, but was unable and had been unable ever since Cuddy had hung up on him earlier in the day. _She sounded busy, focused on work, and I don't need to distract her and be a nuisance. _

House lifted his head and looked at the alarm clock mocking him on the nightstand. _2:34pm_. It didn't feel normal, to lay in bed awake for five and a half hours, and not be driving himself crazy. He felt very off, and knew that what was left of the day was going to go by very slowly. Slow motion was an understatement, and he silently questioned his sanity at the moment.

He got to his feet, very carefully, and stumbled, trying to catch his balance. Apparently lack of sleep made him unsteady, and he reached over to grab his vicodin thinking it would help with his current condition. _Maybe I should try to not pay attention, take a bit too much, and then just…drift away… maybe. _

When House made it to the bathroom, he looked in the mirror and made a note about how disheveled his appearance was. Not only were there dark circles rimming his eyes, his frown lines looked even more pronounced, and his eyes being dark looked abnormally sunken in. Those eyes did not look familiar, they looked like two black orbs, lost and distant. _I feel like an older version of myself, passive and forgotten, just waiting to fade away into thin air. _

As he stood, voiding urine for the first time in a long time, his head started to drop and he was continuing to struggle with the tiredness of his body. Finishing up, he dug through the bathroom cabinet for anything that might help.

House found a bottle of Ambien, and shook it to discover it was full and ready to be the perfect sleep aid for the rest of the day. He carefully set the bottle on the sink's counter and looked at himself deeply into the mirror. _Was this what he had to look forward to now? Bottles of sleeping pills that allowed him to drift away, get away from the world and enter into dreams that practically killed him inside when he awoke? _

He balled his fist once again and slammed it down on the counter making the pill bottle rattle. _What am I doing? _He felt confused and tired, and his thoughts were running in circles within his bright mind, tripping over each other and making no sense. He longed for more, only more sleep and glanced once again to the old man staring back at him. _What? What now damn it?_

'_CRASH!' _

The vanity mirror was now shattered and bits of broken glass littered the floor. House looked down and couldn't even come up with a plausible explanation to excuse his behavior. He was aggravated, lonely, sad and wanted to break down all at the same time. But, with his emotions bottled up even from himself alone in his apartment, House simply ignored the sharp pieces everywhere and picked up the Ambien bottle instead.

Pouring out two into his palm, even though he knew the directions said to take one, he plopped them into his mouth and cupped his hand to get water from the sink to wash them down with.

_This should be a great mix with the vicodin_ he thought when making the journey back into bed. He knew that nothing besides a good days sleep was in store and cared about nothing else as he closed his eyes and waited to be overcome with sleep and darkness.


End file.
